Category Archives: 03

April 4, 2025 · 4:57 am

00460306

There she f-ing is in the flesh ha, thinks Emily New Moon at her counter beside the static filled TV. She likes to have it on with the sound turned at least low just to help drown out the city noise outside. Sometimes it’s bad out there, sometimes not so much. But she likes to keep it on anyway, just in case.

She rehearses her lines as Blue Moon mills around, trying to seem interested in the other tapes. But she only wants the one, she knew. 49 of 50 she has already. And she’s tracked down the 50th and last to this town, this store most likely, since it’s the only video rental one in this population place merely known as The Burg. Here: Downtown, its seedier side. Up there where it’s quieter most of the time: Uptown, where Emily *wished* she worked. But L.A. won the job at the ice cream vendor over her because she’d presented some papers at some national art conference or another, didn’t matter. *She’s* written things too. Just not published or presented stuff. Blue Moon milling about over there trying to seem distracted will know one day too, she thinks while continuing to observe and mentally rehearse. “‘Blue *Balls* Kentucky’, hmm — interesting — let me see,” and she’ll pretend to type the name into her database, pretend to look at results, pretend that the tape isn’t on the list. Blue Moon’s one and only porno, 50 copies extant. She has 49. But dammit if Emily *New* Moon is going to let her have 50. The blue fades to black right here in this town, this store. She’ll reach a dead end and it’ll nag at her the rest of her short lived days, Emily thinks with some satisfaction. Because she knows it’s worth a gold mine. And she, as it turned out, has cornered the market, ha ha ha. He he. Ho.

Here she comes. Steel yourself, Emily! You’ll be as famous as her soon, maybe even bigger than her — no need to be daunted. New Moon rising.

“I-I’d like to inquire about a tape,” she begins rather timidly. Like she doesn’t belong there. And she doesn’t, thinks Emily. Neither of us.

“Name?” she say as matter-of-factly as possible given the moment.

(to be continued)

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April 2, 2025 · 9:53 pm

00460305

“He was just standing there when I looked down from the bird. You know, after the plane.”

“Then what?” Philip was into Frank’s story. For a change.

“Just for a second he was there. Looked like, I don’t know, *Superman*. All jacked up like a superhero, you see.”

“Like Impotent Rage?”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Like Impotent Rage.”

“*Love* Impotent Rage. That’s where I hid my drugs!”

Took Frank a second to get it, then he remembered the figurine in Philip’s trailer with the hollowed out core and pop top head. *Old* trailer. “Oh yeah. Anyway, thought you’d want to know, since, you know, you saw the plane shadows that couldn’t be there too.”

“I *did*,” said Philip without a doubt. “I did indeed. Grapeshot.”

“Grape*seed*,” said Frank.

“Noooo. Grape*shot*. *Franklin*.” Philip liked to call Frank Lynn by his old name when he failed to properly translate anything to this new format they now live in, GTA V imprisoned characters no more. They were free. Thanks to the power of the Alamo. “Remember the Alamo,” Philip would also say to jolt Frank back to the current (virtual) reality. “Remember it and then forget it because we’re in a different place now,” he might follow up, “one that doesn’t stink like *rotting fish*, PHEH.”

Alamo inland sea of GTA V fully transferred over to Nawt Vaya inland sea of Our Second Lyfe. Like Philip before him, Frank was totally on board with it. After all, they always had the dreams and reminiscings to return if needed. Like now.

“Anyway,” Frank continued in that vein, “he was standing at the start of that jutting out place, you know, the, oh what do you call it? Not peninsula.”

“Pier?” Philip offered, trying to help the story along.

“No dawg, nothing wood or anything. A *jetty* — yeah, that’s it. A narrow piece of land jutting into the water in a straight line.

“Or crooked line,” Philip said, thinking of something called the Spiral Jetty. He can’t recall where.

“Okay, so, you know, the Superman person was gone — only appeared a split second like I said…”

“Yeah?” Philip said, egging him on again.

“But when I was walking down that, er, jetty, in a straight line, I also knew he was *pointing* toward something. Something on the other side of the lake as it turned out.”

“Sea,” corrected Philip once more. “Alamo Sea.”

“Yeah, Alamo Sea, then. So I stood near the end of the point, looked across the lake — sea, sorry. There was a boat parked near the tip, but that wasn’t it. Then I heard it. Little Hell, Philip. Place called Little Hell.”

Philip had heard of the location but had also heard it called Heaven and said so. Out of their dreams and back into the present, both looked across the moonlit Nawt Vaya waters and wondered what *that* meant. Little Hell and Heaven both.

(to be continued)

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April 1, 2025 · 3:01 pm

00460304

“Isn’t this a beautiful view of the harbour, Newt? Just lovely.”

“Well,” opined her opposite eating ice cream partner at the stand. “They could have done a better job with the line there dividing the 2 sides of the texture. Makes it obviously unreal. And the blurring–”

“Blurring only makes it more romantic,” quickly countered Wheeler. “This skyline could be any city in the world you want it to be, any virtual burg for that matter. It could be Sydney to me, Melbourne to you. Our choice. Just pick the most romantic city you know and you’re sitting across from it, eating strawberry or vanilla ice cream, also your choice. You like vanilla, I don’t.”

“We better start talking about Nawt Vaya,” said Newt, tired of meaningless chatter. “Why we came here. To this *rendezvous*,” he couldn’t help tack on again. Next time, he promised himself. Gowns and formal attire.

“Okay.” She finished the last 1 1/2 scoops of strawberry in one huge gulp just to try to speed things up and maybe add a little comedy to the matter, then continued to talk with mouth open and muffled voice. “Ow, fthatt *hurfts*.”

“What do you expect, Wheeler?” he said, watching her now deal with brain freeze. He decides to start while she heals. “Let’s take account of the residents of our fair land there in the center of Nawt Vaya. First off, there’s me and you obviously, then Lexi and Philip over in her house on the south edge of the property, then Fink is around too, then Jack is not far away as well — Jack Dogg, I’m obviously talking about here and not any of the other Jacks we’re attached to now. And then Barry De Boy and Wendy are up in that cottage perched above my own home of Newtonia. Do you like that name, Wheeler? Newtonia? Are you able to properly speak yet?”

“Mmmmm. MmmMMMMMMmm.”

“Obviously not. I’ll continue, then. Then there’s Veyot up on the hill, Pearl just up the coast a bit. Then in Juho we have Greg Ogden who’s also an artist — runs STAB now — and then I believe Nada New Year is there too, and also Carolin. And, let’s see, Peter Melanchton–”

“Gone,” Wheeler managed, ice cream headache finally subsiding.

“Right. And then the girl who’s suppose to take his place as summa cum laude graduate of Nawt Vaya State University and her, er, boyfriend I guess we’ll call him. And then Edward is still around.”

“Backwards positioned waterfall,” Wheeler identified his location. “You’re okay with that? Aren’t you?”

“Ahh, *sure*.” He was 1/2 and 1/2 on the issue but he really didn’t have any choice. Unless he did. He’s trying. Date first, then other things. Has to start with a proper date, which apparently this wasn’t. He tries to focus on the census again and away from the Wheeler+Edward continuing issue. “And then Princess Pinky Gumm.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“Oh…. right.” Newt remembers that Wheeler is playing that role, actually. “And… I can’t think of anyone else. Can you?”

“OH. I saw… I saw *Frank*! I totally forgot to tell you.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah. *Frank*. In Juho. At the barber shop when I was getting my hair cut the other day. I was getting the Butterfly No. 25 while he just sat there getting nothing, no styling no treatment, no anything. *Frank*,” she emphasized.

“Frank *who*?” Newt had to question. There were a couple, including a bunny man who hadn’t figured into the plot of these here photo-novels since the middle of the last. But it turned out to be Frank Lynn of GTAV fame.

“And Sep Felton was there too,” said Wheeler. “You know Sep. Butterflies again. Over on Corsica. She’s a stylist in both places. I didn’t even ask her how that worked, dufus that I am. I was *so* focused on getting it all chopped off, letting my scalp breathe again as Winter turns into Spring. I want the Butterfly, I said excitedly almost when I came in the shop. I didn’t realize the synchronicity.”

“You should always be paying attention to synchronicity. Why we’re here,” summarized Newt.

“I know, I know.”

“So… let’s start exploring and we can talk more.”

“My line!”

Someone in desperate need of a haircut himself, or herself, came walking into the picture. It, we’ll call them to remain gender neutral.

(to be continued)

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April 1, 2025 · 2:42 pm

00460303

He listened in while she continued to play her games. It wasn’t a date, she insisted. Casual dress you’ll notice. But Newt was kind of treating it as such. Arrived 30 minutes late. Payback obviously for him being so late the other night to their TV watching down in the bottom of her new dwelling place. Big!

“I don’t know what happened. It just… slipped out of my hands! The whole cone and its triple dip of strawberry ice cream I’ll remind you.”

“No problem, miss. I’ll dip you 3 more.” Sarah “L.A.” Nunchuck had passed the Wheeler test. She’s on the green list as opposed to the red. Newt knew they’d probably be coming here again for future dates or whatever you call this. Rendezvous, she said. “Let’s rendezvous and talk about developments at Nawt Vaya, where we’re going, where we’re heading. But somewhere away from home base. Who knows who’s listening here.”

“Who would be listening?” Newt questioned Wheeler’s logic.

“You know, the neighbors.”

“Veyot? Pearl?” Newt didn’t think the neighbors would be listening in. They had better things to do. Like running art galleries elsewhere in Our Second Lyfe. Yet Wheeler persisted and Newt finally relented. Besides, she found this burg about a 1/2 mile from the lake inland sea quite fascinating — Burg; that was the actual name. “It has an uptown, midtown, and downtown, Newt,” she said about it over the phone while setting up the, ahem, *rendezvous*. “Uptown is classy, midtown is, well, midtown, and downtown is seedy. Then there’s the park to end, west to east. We’ll explore after we have ice cream.”

And so here they are.

(to be continued)

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March 30, 2025 · 3:20 pm

00460302

Newt found himself even happier than he suspected, overjoyed even. Bimbo had texted their treehouse and said she’d be a couple of days late to arrive in Nawt Vaya, perhaps even a couple of years. Fink would keep using the attic computer for his virtual needs, Newt knew.

And he was right about the giraffe instead being an elephant (!) — my bad, he thinks. I’ll pay closer attention to what he says from now on and not immediately rule out such seemingly nonsensical, *surrealist* statements, ha.

But the primmy geometric tiger behind the spindly legged elephant here and also the similarly prim laden Dali Park beside Starbuccaneers below were now gone. He’d made his point, I suppose.

Which reminds me: time to go get my 2 daily 4 shot lattes, ho.

(to be continued)

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March 29, 2025 · 12:58 pm

00460301 (another “late”)

She was far away from her intended destination, she knew that. Led astray by another cube being shaped like her old lover. Who may be her new lover. In the way they knew how or could.

“We’ve travelled so far, Bimbo,” he/it said. “And now we’re here. What do you think it is?”

“Not. Cube?” said Bimbo back in her Half Japanese accent, cute for a robot.

“No, definitely not that,” he replied in an American one but still robotic. “Round instead.”

“Rooooound,” Bimbo tested out the word. “Ciirrrclllleee.” She even traced a circle in front of her with her pointing, stubby blue-green robot arm with no discernable hand to mimic the one on the stone.

“That’s right. Different from us.”

“Diffferrrreeeent,” continued Bimbo in the same way. Then she did something else with her hands this time which made him chuckle. She couldn’t make a hole with the other but he got the point from the first.

“That’s right, Bimbo,” he said. “The f-ckers.”

“Ffffffff———–ers.” Then she said something that might have made him blush if he was capable of doing so. “Us?”

“No, Bimbo. Not in that way. Different.”

“Differrrrent,” repeated Bimbo.

“I’ll show you.”

(to be continued? (probably not))

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December 27, 2024 · 8:55 am

00450316

I was walking past the three monks worshipping at a shrine in front of a pretty pink blossoming tree when I saw the TILE umbrella in the distance. I began to wonder: was *that* what they’re really worshipping? They were pointed the right way for it. Maybe the shrine and the tree were there just to guide our eye in the right direction.

I walked up under the umbrella and saw the 4 colors on the opposite side emerge from below. The anti-jewels (!) I think. The ones provided by what Bill Giant calls the system. Better get back to completing my side of the deal, then. Back to “Frank’s Moving Mtn.”

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December 26, 2024 · 4:52 pm

00450315

It was time for yellow to finally shine. And shine he did (!). He helped me more than anyone else on this list because he observed my creativity in action more than any of the others. Yellow Guy, as we’ll call him (Jack Yellow?) was quite the character. He went by a name that indicated he spoke more with action than words, or spoke his words quietly. We bonded originally, as the Green Dude coming after him, through a particular band/musician, in this case the enigmatic yet eternally relevant, jack-of-all-styles Frank Zappa. I can’t remember exact stuff we spoke about but it was just a general resonance with a lot centered around this 3rd, absent figure, just like with the Green Dude and The Kinks and Bowie later on, almost 10 years later on if I’m counting correctly. And like Green Dude with Bowie in particular, this Yellow Guy, who I’ll keep calling that for convenience sake, knew more about Zappa than I did. I was learning, I was grokking. Now by this time I’d done at least one larger, what I call audiovisual synchronicity with Zappa as a major player, this being “Head Trip” from late 2004. Then “Frank’s Moving Mtn.” where he was also heavily involved came along in 2005 or 2006 — I’m having a hard time pinning down the exact year according to my records. And I’m not sure if I knew Yellow Guy at the time or if he was a direct influence on it. I suppose that would make sense. Anyway, so we have this bond. He was our office’s recycling guy, also serving a lot of the campus as I recall. But when he stopped by he’d always make time to talk. Then lo and behold a vacancy occurred in our office for a part time helper for me. He just happened to be good friends with the person who’d filled that spot for the prior 1/2 year, and, by that time, he’d also befriended my boss who was mainly responsible for the decision to hire him. Took him out of recycling, gave him his own desk and computer, and put us squarely as team moving forward. This arrangement continued for almost a year’s time. We were still friends at the end, but working so closely together in the morning had taken its toll — too many flaws uncovered in both directions, a relationship damaged enough that we haven’t kept in strong contact through the years, although I hear from him every Blue Moon still. I miss the guy.

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December 26, 2024 · 6:01 am

00450314

I backed up after passing him, intending to ask the obvious, something like, “Enjoying that Chinese food, bud?” But he piped up first.

“You again,” he said. He recognized me! I thought. And I him too. Desert. Burning. But in the morning: okay. Just an Arasaka crash test dummy robot, if still deactivated. What I mean is that he didn’t have a scratch on him from the burning. And now: here. But, just as quick, “Oh, sorry; never mind,” and started eating away again even though he obviously couldn’t. No internal workings, I mean by that. So I moved on, logged it in as yet another glitch in the matrix. But not after seeing he had a yellow head and was sitting on the same bench as a redhead…

… and then two benches down with only one person between them, a blue haired lady sitting with a green haired dame. TILE again. Or very close, close enough to count, I figured. I was still noticing.

(to be continued)

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December 24, 2024 · 8:33 am

00450313

“May I remind you just here that this *could* have been you.”

“No time for dwelling in alternate realities, Jonny. The Prophet’s successor just disappeared in front of us (!). After talking about Alpha Centauri!”

“I wish I could be comforted,” Jonny continued nonplussed, “that aliens were up there, looking after our well being or *not* looking after it. But, truth be told, the only blood sucking vampires up in space with reptilian skin are the corps sitting atop their high towers in their fancy, snakeskin suits with their eyes all lit up from all the eddies they’re taking from the common people down below. I’m a realist V(al). It’s all here and now for me. Look around. What’s in front of your face. No escapist fantasy for this ol’ rocker boy.”

“Speaking of which, Jonny. What do you know about (the town of) Rocky Boy out in the desert? Per chance: named for you?”

“I’d rather not go down that path, talking about alternate realities.” He looks down at his feet, exhales. “Yeah, admittedly I had a hand in that you could say, ha.” He dexterously wiggles the fingers on his silver one, looks over at the Hustle Girl again as we’ve started to call her. He was expressing *his* desired reality in no uncertain terms.

Jonny later said that people *can* just wink out in Nightsity; it’s not unheard of. Because it’s all part of the Matrix, he expressed — everything we know is, he held firm.

(to be continued)

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